At that moment, there was a sudden acceleration that pressed them into their seats. All around them, people screamed.

When the car slowed at another incline, Shakespeare spoke again. “Just ‘fine’?” he said. “That’s all?”

Ellis-Bextor rolled her eyes. “Yes, they’re fine,” she said “Unlike that eensy-weensy nubbin of a dick in front of them.”

Again the car lurched forward and again the other passengers screamed. Ellis-Bextor raised her arms and let them flail in the wind as they spiralled round. Shakespeare remained motionless and mute.

The ride slowed and as they approached the station building, Ellis-Bextor turned to look at Shakespeare. He was crying.

“My penis is only small compared to my balls,” he whimpered. “You think that I’ve got small or medium-sized balls, so when you see that my penis is out of proportion, you assume it’s undersized.”

Ellis-Bextor didn’t know what to say.

Shakespeare tried to press part of his sheer linen collar into the corner of his eye, but it wouldn’t reach, so he dabbed at the tears with the sleeve of his jerkin instead. “I’ve got big balls,” he said. “I don’t know why you don’t interpret the penis-testicle ratio more favourably.”

They got out of the car and stood on the platform looking at each other. “They’re lovely and taut,” offered Ellis-Bextor.